


highs and lows

by ImBadWithWords



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Poor Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBadWithWords/pseuds/ImBadWithWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the world were a kind and just place, Spider-Man would not have to endure the same embarrassments as Peter Parker. However, the world is neither kind nor just and Peter can't even get the bad guys to take him seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	highs and lows

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous tumblr prompt: Since Peter is going through puberty he voice will crack and break very often. Cue fight with some robbers and in the middle of quip he voice just BREAKS and the robbers side eye each other; "did you hear what I heard," and Peter just immediately tries to brush it off "oh dang allergies season," and it happens AGAIN-and now I want thousand of fics of Peter's age being revealed to the criminal underworld in embarrassing ways.

There was a nagging tug at the back of Peter’s mind that had nothing to do with his spider-sense and everything to do with the light coming from the windows of The Trustee’s National Bank. He knew the bank should be closed at this time of night; more than once he had rushed up to its doors after missing his train, hoping to cash his latest paycheck from the Bugle, only to see the “Closed” sign and a distinct lack of light.

But it was nearing midnight and the place was still lit up like a Christmas tree. Maybe someone was staying late. Maybe the bank was extending its hours. Maybe security had simply forgotten. There was a host of explanations that didn’t involve criminal shenanigans. But what harm could it do to check, right?

Peter took a quick look around him before ducking into the side alley and donning his spider suit. He shoved his street clothes and sneakers into his backpack before he scaled the wall of the two-story building in seconds, soundlessly reaching the roof. A small skylight gave him a clear view of the floor below.

There were three people in the bank lobby. Two were men, one with a scruffy beard and shabby clothing, the other in stylish glasses, and one was a woman wearing a bright orange scarf. The guy with glasses was holding a gun. Criminal shenanigans at its finest.

Peter watched Scruffy and Scarf Lady move toward the back room where the safety deposit boxes were. Glasses stood watch, fingers fidgeting with the gun as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it, eyes flicking back and forth between the front door and a point over his shoulder. None of them seemed concerned about the video cameras fixed to various marble columns and ceiling corners. Either they had managed to disable the security system or they were really, really stupid.

Easing the skylight open, Peter kept an eye on Glasses, hoping the man wouldn’t decide to look up and spoil the fun of his surprise entrance. He needed this over quick; chem was first period the next day and he hadn’t even started on his lab report.

“Would you guys hurry up?” Glasses hissed at his accomplices. He switched the gun to his other hand and pressed himself against a column. Peter maneuvered himself just above him.

“The key to this door isn’t working!” Scarf Lady called back. “You must have copied the wrong one!”

“I _didn’t!”_ he insisted. He shifted the gun back to his right hand.

“Don’t you just hate when things don’t turn out like you planned?” Peter sighed from his perch. Glasses whipped his head up and his mouth fell open. He scrambled away from the column as Scruffy and Scarf Lady came running into the lobby. “I mean, you go through all the trouble of coordinating with your buddies, deciding where you want to go, yaddah yaddah yaddah…”

“You’re—You’re the spider guy!” Glasses exclaimed.

“The one and only, my friend.” Peter planted his feet against the column so he could give a clumsy half-bow. “Fightin’ crime, spinnin’ webs, the whole deal. _Speaking_ of which, if you all could line up in an orderly fashion—“

“Oh, hell no!” Scruffy interupted. “Mike, you’ve got the gun! Show this creep who’s boss!” He shoved Glasses forward.

“Don’t—Don’t use my real name, man!” Glasses/Mike looked at Peter, then at the weapon in his hand. He waved it vaguely in the air. “Just—leave us alone!”

“That’s real threatening, Mike,” Scarf Lady muttered behind him.

“Wow, and I thought _I_ was new to the crime world,” Peter joked. He eased lower down the column. “I guess bank robbing isn’t what it looks like in the movies, huh?”

Mike raised the gun again, but kept it pointed somewhere near Peter’s feet. “You’re going to let us walk through those doors a-and no one has to get hurt.”

Peter tapped a finger against his chin as if thinking it over. He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m with you on the no-one-gets-hurt part—“ he said, “—but see, if I let you walk away, what kind of example does that set for the other would-be bank robbers?” He shook his head. “No, I think this calls for the whole police/arresting shebang.”

Scruffy’s eyes went wide. “Uh-uh, no way, man,” he said taking a step back. His eyes darted around the room. “I’m not going back to prison.” Scruffy lunged at Mike. He wrenched the gun away, thrust it at Peter. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he sprang to the ceiling just as a shot rang out. Mike and Scarf Lady shrieked, ducked, covered their heads.

_“What the hell are you doing?!”_ Scarf Lady yelled. She shook off Mike’s death-grip on her arm. Scruffy’s mouth was agape.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to pull the trigger!” he stammered back.

“That’s very comforting,” Peter said, hand over his heart. “Knowing that if I had died, I would have died knowing that you are, in fact, just as dumb as you look.”

Scruffy’s brow furrowed. “How’s about you shut up?” he said, gesturing angrily with the gun. “Or next time it won’t be an accident.”

“Seriously?” Peter sighed. His posture sagged, and if he hadn’t been wearing a mask, the robbers would have been able to see the pout on his face. “Did we not learn anything from this? We should leave the big-boy toys to the prof- _ess-_ ionals—“

Peter’s eyes widened in horror. Not now. Oh, _please_ not now. Mike and Scarf Lady looked at him with eyebrows raised, mouths open.

Scruffy jabbed the gun at Peter. “You annoying little—!”

Mike jumped on him, forcing his arm down. “Wait, hold on, man!” He waited until Scruffy looked him in the face. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Did… did I just hear… what I think I heard?” Mike asked. He glanced at his partners.

“I heard it too,” said Scary Lady. Peter’s stomach twisted.

“I-I don’t know what you think you heard, but—“ Peter said.

“Your voice,” Scarf Lady interrupted. Peter shifted so he was half-standing on the column again. He pulled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest.

“There’s nothing wrong with my voice.”

“What are you guys on about?” Scruffy asked. He made no move to point the gun at him again.

“Spidey’s voice cracked,” Mike whispered. He sounded somewhere between awed and shocked.

“My voice did not crack!” Peter protested. Crossing his arms, Peter tried his best to look intimidating. “I have a c- _old!”_

He had never been so grateful for his mask. The tips of his ears burned in embarrassment. Mike burst out laughing.

“Listen,” he said, “I’ve raised three boys and _that_ was definitely your voice cracking.”

“You have to be, like, what? Thirteen?” Scarf Lady exclaimed.

“I am not thirteen!” Peter yelled, throwing his arms in the air. Of all the times he could humiliate himself, did it really have to be while in costume? Spidey was supposed to be the cool one!

“Oh my god. I nearly shot you,” Scruffy murmured. His face drained of color. “You’re just a kid. I nearly shot you and you’re just a kid, holy _shit—“_

_“Language!”_ hissed Scarf Lady. 

“No, no, we are stopping this right here.” Peter dropped down to the ground. Only to realize he was the shortest one in the room.

“Oh my gosh, you’re so small…” Scarf Lady covered her mouth with her hands. If she tried to pinch his cheeks, he was webbing her to the ceiling and letting the cops figure out how to get her down.

“I am not a child!” Peter fixed the robbers with a glare, pointing a threatening finger at each one in turn. “I fought _Captain America_. In _Germany_. With _Iron Man_. Could I have done that if I were a kid? Huh?”

Mike smiled. “Son, I’d be surprised if you were older than eighteen.” Next to him, Scruffy flinched.

“You shouldn't be doing this!” Scarf Lady exclaimed. “It’s dangerous! You should be home, with your parents!”

Peter clamped his hands over his ears. “Nope! Not listening to this! We are done with this conversation!” He dropped his hands to fire quick spurts of web at the thieves, webbing them together. He pulled the gun from Scruffy’s hand and tossed it across the lobby.

“Whoa! What is this stuff?” Mike asked.

“Something nice and sticky that’s going to keep you here until the police arrive,” Peter answered. He webbed their feet to the floor. He dusted his hands together then planted them on his hips. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find some criminals with some actual _respect!”_

He launched himself upward, feeling the adults’ eyes on his back. He opened the skylight and crawled through. “And I am not a teen- _ager! Shit!”_


End file.
